


Ghosts

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-28
Updated: 2008-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 19:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senritsu and Basho follow Kurapika home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

Since leaving for the eastern continent, the days have been bleak. The skies are dark with stormclouds and the rains persist in dampening their journey further. At times, the black gives way to some grey -- the sun fighting from within the clouds -- but ultimately, the darkness is triumphant.

Senritsu gives a quiet sigh, watching a streak of lightning dance from one cloud to another. Her breath stops short on the windowpane, stays there until she wipes it away with her hand.

This isn't a pleasure voyage by any means, but nature's harsh emphasis is making things... difficult aboard the private airship.

 _Well...,_ she considers, the melancholy aboard contagious, _more difficult._

She's actually spent the better part of today alone, as her two companions have seen it fit to spend the remainder of the journey in their respective rooms. Her only other choice for company is the ship's staff, consisting of one pilot, one cook, and the maintenance crew -- none of whom seem fond of socializing.

So Senritsu drums her short fingernails against the glass, wonders how far from Reven they are, and tries to talk herself out of going to bother Kurapika.

He is actually the reason she is on this airship. Or rather, one of the reasons. The second reason is in the form of a durable little preservation tube containing one pair of Scarlet Eyes, as they are called in collector circles.

The third reason is Kurapika's... fragile... state. She has a feeling this is Basho's reason, too.

~*~

When they're informed that, after Reven, they will have to make the rest of the trip on foot, Senritsu is mildly surprised, having figured speed was a factor in this homecoming and burial.

"You aren't flying straight to Rukuso?" Basho echoes, baffled.

"I don't want any other outsiders there," is Kurapika's quiet, distracted answer.

Senritsu understands immediately, but Basho doesn't leave well enough alone. "It would be quicker, and much more convenient if--"

"I. Don't. Want that." The words fall like a mallet to a timpani: Steady, strong, and firm. A warning.

"But it--"

Senritsu makes the prudent decision to put a subtle stop to Basho's inquiries.

... If a flute to the gut can be considered "subtle."

~*~

Another time, the memory might have made her smile; Basho is simply too big -- a kick to the shin would not suffice! But the mood on the ship is a somber one. Kurapika has not been himself since acquiring another pair of his people's eyes. Or maybe he _is_ himself, and this is just the first glimpse of him she has seen.

 _I should keep an ear on him,_ she thinks, and means quite precisely that.

Abandoning her notions of not bothering him, she walks briskly to the corridor housing their lodgings and sits herself down next to his door. She can hear Basho snoring in the room next door, but what seems louder to her is Kurapika's heart. Its beating is quick, erratic -- thumping hard and fast against his ribcage even as she can tell he is taking deep, meditative breaths in an attempt to control it.

So she pulls out her flute and starts to play. It's a soothing melody, one borne of her genuine desire for comfort and calm. Slowly, evenly, she lets her Nen complement the tune, her power blanketing the air in a soft aura -- warm, fuzzy.

Basho's sleep deepens. Kurapika's heart-rate slows to a healthier speed.

Senritsu keeps playing until _both_ of her boys are asleep.

~*~

"If we all have the same vacation time," Senritsu is saying, completely assertive, "then I see no reason why we can't go together." She takes a sip of her tea, considers the Kuruta over the rim of her cup.

"It's--"

"Far?" Basho drawls with a mouthful of cake.

"Dangerous?" Senritsu muses, raising an eyebrow.

Kurapika makes a... _face_ at his scones. Senritsu has spent the lion's share of the morning trying to define the expression: Not _quite_ a glower, but more than a petulant pout, and always directed at something unable to return the look. While she doesn't have a _name_ for this face, she knows that he only makes it once he's run out of arguments.

"When do we leave?" Basho wants to know.

"Make sure you're ready when I am," the blond stipulates, and his tone forestalls any argument.

Senritsu nods, conceding to the fact that an emotional wreck will be leading this expedition.

The least she can do is take care of him.

~*~

Her phone claims that they land in Reven at six-thirty in the morning. She looks up at the black sky, doubtful, then back at her phone. _Ah, nature is cruel._

To her private relief, Basho manages to convince their determined leader to rent a car to ease the rest of the journey. Between the distance, wind, and rain, Basho argues, the three of them would be hypothermic, fall ill in the wild, and probably die.

"How would you fulfill your promise then?" he asks, and Kurapika directs the _face_ to a bench on his left.

It's a grieving process Senritsu is observing first-hand. Kurapika withdraws, becomes stubborn, despondent, and increasingly difficult to deal with the closer they come to Rukuso. Near the Valley, his personal ghosts find him within reach; they grab hold, and don't let go.

~*~

The first night in the air, she finds him sitting by himself in the ship's lounge. Well, she knew he would be alone, seeing as how he chased Basho away earlier in the evening. His feet are on the low table and the glass tube is in his hands. His gaze remains fixed on the eyes suspended within, as though he expects something from them. She knows he senses her sit down beside him, but doesn't react.

"What are you going to do when you bring them... home?" she asks gently.

For a long time, she doesn't think he will answer. But then, "Bury them."

"How?"

He stiffens, and she hears his heart rate increase -- anger -- and she believes he's misunderstood her question.

She succeeds in soothing the beast, but doesn't get her answer.

~*~

The further into Rukuso they travel, the quieter Kurapika becomes. The car is a small, silent shelter against the heavy rains in the valley. Basho drives over the hills, occasionally glancing at their reason for being out here in the rearview mirror. Senritsu, in the passenger seat, does not look back, figuring their charge has not moved since she looked last. She pictures him hugging the glass tube, empty blue eyes staring at something in the dark distance -- something only he seems to be able to see.

"Keep going straight," he says suddenly. "Almost there."

Basho mutters, "That's what he said six hills ago."

"I haven't been here in years," Kurapika defends, needlessly. "But I know where we're going. Two or three more hills."

It turns out to be four more hills, and then they see it.

The first village across the Rukuso border is a dead land. Even in the darkness, in the rain, the village's ruins somehow seem _blacker_ \-- darker shapes against darkness, dilapidated, lonely, lifeless.

Her twisted arm aches.

Basho slows the car to a crawl. "Damn," he breathes. With the engine's growl down to a purr, the sound of the rain pelting the car is deafening. The wipers make a feeble attempt at granting them a glimpse of what happened here.

Senritsu's initial contemplation is interrupted by her friend's rapid-fire heartbeat. Before she can say anything, the back door has opened and shut, and their Rukuso survivor is running out in front of the car. He's drenched by the time he stops, his back to them, seemingly just looking at what's left of his home.

"This isn't good for him," Basho says.

"It isn't," Senritsu agrees. "But it's something he has to do."

The other Hunter's large shoulders heave with a sigh. "Let's go, then."

They don their sweaters and ponchos awkwardly in their seats and then leave the car and join Kurapika.

"Here, boy," Basho reaches out with Kurapika's rain gear, only to be ignored when the blond walks further into the village. "Hey, where're you going?"

He doesn't answer, which leaves Senritsu and Basho with little choice but to follow.

As they trudge through what was once Kurapika's village, Senritsu huddles into her poncho and mourns for all that was lost here. It's difficult to see the extent of the damage in the darkness, but the storm adds to atmosphere. The air is bitter cold; death is all around them. The dirt paths are now overgrown with weeds and farm equipment is just... _there_.

They pass numerous mounds of mud marked with various sizes of stones. Senritsu's breath catches in her throat, and a sharp pain shoots through her heart. Not entirely for the poor souls resting beneath, but for the poor boy who had to bury them.

~*~

"Will you please put your rain gear on?" Basho pleads for the sixth time. For the sixth time, Kurapika ignores him.

"Found it," the Kuruta says quietly, words lost to the storm but for Senritsu's ears.

"Found what?" she asks, loudly for Basho's benefit.

The blond, soaked to the bone, gives Basho the tube containing the eyes. Then he bends down and unearths a worn shovel from the grass. He straightens, walks five steps to the left, and starts digging. Senritsu belatedly realizes that the shovel was lying next to another mound.

 _He's burying the eyes separately,_ she observes, thinking back to her days-old question. _It makes sense. How to tell where a pair belongs?_

She hangs back and doesn't offer to help. Basho cradles the tube like it's a precious infant. The earth gradually gives way under Kurapika's shovel and he makes slow, painstaking progress. The ground is as dead as everything else.

Finally, the tiny grave is ready. Without prompting, Basho inches forward and hands over the tube. Kurapika holds it like a new mother: Tenderly, close, and reluctant to let go.

"Don't," Senritsu cautions as he kneels down in the muddy grass, but she doesn't persist. She looks up, closes her eyes against the smattering rain and does her very best to concentrate on that, listen only to that -- and not to the private promises, pleas, prayers, or mournful monologues of the broken soul before her. It's none of her business, she doesn't want to hear it -- but she hears it anyway.

For the first time, she's glad it's raining. The skies cry for him, because he doesn't seem capable.

He covers the grave with his hands, and then just sits there staring at it. The ghosts are here, Senritsu figures. Haunting. Reminding. Making him live it again.

It's Basho who eventually puts an end to it. "All right, let's go." Surprisingly gentle, he pulls Kurapika up and helps him into the remaining poncho. "You won't do anyone any good when you catch hypothermia, will you?" he asks pointedly, pulling the hood up.

They walk back to the car in silence, arms linked, with Kurapika between them. Senritsu thinks he may have been crying... but it's so dark and he's so wet, she can't tell for sure.

He spends the entire drive back sleeping, stretched out across the backseat with the heater on full blast. Senritsu isn't surprised; ghosts can consume, leaving the possessed exhausted in their wake.

At least they've released him for the time being.

~*~

On the airship, returning to York Shin, they have an excuse to feign complete normalcy and fall into this role eagerly.

Kurapika lowers his glass, covers his mouth, and glares at Senritsu as he wrestles between swallowing and spitting her special brew all over his blankets. He conquers, she knows, by sheer force of pride -- because Kurapika would never be caught doing something so unsightly.

"What _is_ that?" he demands, handing her the glass. "It tastes like... camel spit."

"Secret." She quirks a smile. "But you'll feel better soon. And don't complain; Basho _told_ you to dress warmly. That horrible cold probably _latched_ on to you back in town. And probably in the washroom before we boarded the ship. Serves you right."

He makes the _face_ at the blankets. The sight makes her grin as she turns to leave his room.

She'd say she wasn't supposed to hear what he says, but if that were true, he wouldn't have said it. So she answers his feather-soft whisper. "You're welcome. For everything."

She leaves him to recuperate, shutting the door against ghosts and anything else, and keeps vigil until she knows he's asleep.

end+


End file.
